


Of Qunari Rituals & Antivan Ale

by SOMNlARl



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Humor, In which Cullen is cocky and Dorian is flustered, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, adorable nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/pseuds/SOMNlARl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Cullen glowered briefly at the memory of their last Wicked Grace game and his ignominious loss to Josephine before continuing. “I believe that would be the Bull and Cadash,” Cullen said with a wry grin, shaking his head slowly. He took another drink of his ale and set the mug down again with an unsteady clatter. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Sweet Maker! In the middle of the courtyard? Josephine will faint. And then kill the both of them once she recovers.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Qunari Rituals & Antivan Ale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nymfen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymfen/gifts).



> written for [girlshapedguitar](http://girlshapedguitar.tumblr.com/) who wanted some cocky/sassy Cullen and Dorian getting a little bit flustered. i'll take pretty much any excuse to be funny. 
> 
> tumblr: xhermionedanger - come play! 
> 
> if you like it, please tell me! <3

Another loud series of heavy thuds and grunts coming from outside the Herald's Rest interrupted Dorian's anecdote. How anything could be heard over the racket the Chargers were making as they cheered and sang, shouted and jeered was beyond him but the heavy blows and anguished cries were holding their own in the din of the tavern. This was the third time in nearly as many minutes that he'd been so rudely distracted from his own thoughts and now he’d lost his train of thought completely. 

“What _is_ that ungodly racket?” Dorian huffed, a scowl spreading across his face.

Cullen was silent a moment, listening with a look of intense concentration on his face. He started to reply then took a drink with a grimace. “Ugh, this swill is terrible! I thought the bartender said ale was his specialty?”

“He also said it was an old Antivan recipe and therein lies the problem. Never bet against an Antivan, Commander, and never drink their ale.”

Cullen glowered briefly at the memory of their last Wicked Grace game and his ignominious loss to Josephine before continuing. “I believe that would be the Bull and Cadash,” Cullen said with a wry grin, shaking his head slowly. He took another drink of his ale and set the mug down again with an unsteady clatter. 

“Sweet Maker! In the middle of the courtyard? Josephine will faint. And then kill the both of them once she recovers.”

Cullen just looked at him, head cocked inquisitively, the grin having turned into the half-smirk that never failed to make Dorian flush, his insides roil and burn with desire. A pity the Commander seemed to have no interest in anything beyond his work and the occasional night out at the tavern. Dorian imagined that if Cullen did ever show a flash of interest in anyone it would be a woman. He always had had terrible luck. More's the pity Dorian thought, especially since he'd been unable to keep his eyes off the man since he first laid eyes on him in the war room.

“You know... having... Well, you know. _Fun_.” Dorian threw his hands up in the air at the sound of another loud thud and what now sounded like a moan, his imagination running away with him clearly. Was Cullen actually going to make him spell it out? Really, the man was impossible. Dorian knew that Cullen, like most Templars, had been raised a devout Chantry boy but was it really possible he was still so naïve as to not understand a simple jest? Surely even Templars, like all groups of young men housed in close quarters, got up to mischief in isolated corners when the lights went out? Or, as he thought was unfortunately more likely in the Commander's case, be aware of what other young recruits might indulge in?

“I do know, yes. In fact, I unfortunately have first-hand knowledge of the _fun_ that Bull and Edric get up to. Maker's breath! I'll never burn that image from the back of my eyelids.” Cullen drained the last of his ale and gestured to the serving girl for another.

“Wait, I was joking! The Bull? And the Inquisitor? Truly?” Dorian demanded, unable to keep a horrified tone from his voice even as he pressed for details. He tried to follow suit and finish his drink but ended up choking on the last sip, coughing and sputtering until Cullen clapped him soundly on the back.

Cullen snorted, his smirk deepening as he looked right at Dorian who glowered at him. “Oh, yes. It was quite the piece of gossip in the barracks. You must be losing your touch if you haven't heard.”

“Would you care to elaborate, _Commander_? Enlighten me?” Dorian hissed, feeling the tips of his ears reddening ever so slightly. He hoped it wasn't noticeable in the dark of the tavern.

“Curious, are we?” Cullen teased, his words beginning to slur ever so slightly. The man really couldn't hold his liquor although Dorian supposed that Cullen might just be a few drinks ahead of him. The Commander inched closer to Dorian with a protesting screech from the legs of his chair as they dragged across the scuffed wood floors of the tavern.

“I, ah, accidentally walked in. On them.” Cullen blinked slowly and shook his head again, vigorously this time, loosening a few strands of golden hair that fell across his brow. Somehow – blessedly - Dorian resists the urge to reach out and run his fingers through them, push them back over his chiseled forehead. “I had a report. For the Inquisitor. It's not my fault they don't lock doors! And it wasn't just me. Josephine and Cassandra were there too.”

The man leaned in even closer, breath hot against Dorian's neck as he whispered. “I thought Cassandra was going to wring both of their necks. If Edric wasn't Maker-chosen she very well might have but the Seeker could hardly force the Herald of Andraste to such an unexceptional end. Josephine couldn't stop staring. I think she wanted to...” Cullen giggled into his mug. _Giggled_. “Ride the Bull.”

Well, then. Apparently Cullen was not quite as innocent as he had imagined. _Ride the Bull_ , indeed.

“How does that even work? A dwarf and a Qunari?” Dorian mused aloud, twisting at the drooping end of his mustache between thumb and forefinger. Try as he might to scrub the image from his mind it stuck tight. “The logistics are positively mind-boggling.”

“Would you like me to explain it to you? Or would you prefer I draw you a map?”

“Commander,” Dorian warned, the danger in the word clear. Fire, then ice, then resurrect, followed by still more fire. He feared it was hardly a warning to be heeded; so many people in Skyhold threatened, so few horribly burned.

Cullen bit his lower lip as he raked a hand through his hair, a repentant look in his light brown eyes but a quick twitch of the muscle in his jaw gave away the laughter threatening to spill over.

“They're not doing _that_ , Dorian. They're hitting each other with sticks until everything's fine again.” Cullen said with an air of finality, as if that explained anything at all. The man leaned back in his chair until his head was propped against the wall, his eyes closed, fingers intertwined and resting across his chest.

“If you thought that would make any sense whatsoever you are sorely mistaken, Commander. How long before me did you start drinking?”

Cullen chuckled as he righted his chair, pitching too far forward towards his mug but catching himself on an elbow before he knocked it over. “Sticks. They take turns hitting each other with sticks. It's some sort of Qunari ritual, apparently and Edric's taken a shine to it.” The blond screwed up his face in concentration, fingers rubbing at his eyes. “Bull was saying it was to conquer fear, I think? So if he's afraid of something the Inquisitor has to hit him with a stick until the fear is gone. Perhaps it works for dwarves as well?”

Cullen shrugged as he took another deep drink of his ale. “Really, I think it’s more that they both really like hitting things. And I got here a good hour before you did. I was starting to think you would never show up! Just like a Tevinter... to promise a man a drinking companion then abandon him at the last moment. No loyalty at all.”

“It's called being fashionably late, Commander. I'd suggest you try it sometime but your tightly-wound heart might stop at the mere suggestion of not being ten minutes early for everything.”

“Doesn't 'fashionably late' require being fashionable to begin with?” Cullen smirked faintly, gaze fixed on Dorian's bare left shoulder.

“Ah! You wound me!” Dorian cried, clutching dramatically at his chest. “I will have you know, you tasteless barbarian, that this style is the very height of fashion back home.”

“Besides,” Dorian continued, raising an expertly-arched eyebrow. “You like it on me.” He waited for the man's tell-tale blush but it didn’t come. 

“I do,” Cullen replied lightly. Dorian narrowed his eyes at the man. Where was the stammering? The embarrassed flush? The scowl? 

“I’d like it even more off you,” Cullen said, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Dorian blinked slowly, once and then again. Each time the blond man was still sitting across from him. _Fasta vass_! What manner of demon was this? 

“I. Uh. What? I don’t believe I heard you correctly,” he managed between quick breaths, his face propped in his hands to shield his cheeks. Hot and bright pink, he imagined. Had a spell gone wrong and they’d accidentally switched bodies? That _would_ explain the last few minutes. 

“Oh, I think you did,” Cullen stood, trailing gloved fingertips lightly down Dorian’s face. As he turned to leave he looked back over his shoulder with a wink, still smirking. 

“Your move, Lord Pavus.”


End file.
